


entanglement

by stardustland (prowlish)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol, Energy Field Sexual Interfacing, M/M, Oral Sex, Passion, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, or at least I got pretty gay about energy fields, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/stardustland
Summary: Drift made Ratchet an offer he couldn't resist.





	entanglement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttelf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttelf/gifts).
  * Inspired by [a taut line](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7951471) by [prowlish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish). 



> Another commission for another lovely and patient person. Thank you so much! This was an absolute delight to work on.
> 
> This is a sequel to 'a taut line'. :)

Ratchet supposed he should’ve known after all of  _ that _ , he wouldn’t be able to focus. Drift’s coy invitation back to his quarters was all he could think of. He’d more thoroughly cleaned his hand -- and desk -- being in the medibay made that easy at least. But the memories were not so easy to wash away. Right now, he was doing all sorts of busywork -- cleaning and organizing tools, routine maintenance on the scanners and droids, and if no one wandered in having injured themselves in some damn fool way, he might be well on his way to organizing some datawork.

 

But none of this kept his mind busy.

 

The cold metal of the tools under his fingers was nothing like touching Drift… the warm metal of his armor, the slick heat of his valve around sensitive fingers, every sweet noise Drift made as he approached overload -- the memory was vivid, and the cold, inert metal in his hands was so dissatisfying in comparison.

 

Unconsciously, Ratchet licked his lips. He sighed -- it hadn't been off his mind for two kliks since Drift had left his sight, and pretending otherwise wasn't doing anything for him… aside from exacerbating his frustration.

 

He stared at his hands, lost in thought again. What did Drift taste like, he wondered -- the mech had cleaned his own fluids from Ratchet's hands before, and he'd been quick to clean up when Drift left, as though afraid First Aid or Ambulon would come wandering in while the room smelled like a fresh interface.

 

Pursing his lips, Ratchet set aside the instruments in his hands. He'd been staring through them as he daydreamed liked some lovestruck newspark. 

 

Pathetic.

 

But considering First Aid was setting up for his own shift now, Ratchet figured it was safe to leave. Unusual for him, sure, but not as unusual as standing around gazing into the distance. Ratchet snorted.

 

Besides, if he left, he didn't risk having to talk about where his mind kept wandering.  _ And _ it meant he could grab a couple of drinks from Swerve's before Drift's duty shift ended.

 

\--

 

Overall, he felt the trip to Swerve’s had been a good idea. One or two drinks after shift was always a great feeling anyway, and chatting with Swerve a little bit about a lot of nothing at least kept him busy.

 

Sort of. He was still distracted. But that worked out fine, with Swerve making others’ drinks, moving back and forth, and then preparing a sealed decanter for Ratchet to take with him.

 

Why not? He had no clue what Drift was planning. He had no clue what  _ he _ was planning, just that this moment – walking up to Drift’s hab suite at the end of alpha shift – had been his singular motivation since Drift had slipped away from the scene of their tryst. 

 

Ratchet paused only one moment outside the door, for the moment reveling in the feeling of anticipation and – well, a concise word escaped him. A sense of satisfaction, perhaps – excitement that they’d put this little dance aside, at least to pick up another. 

 

So then what was  _ this  _ dance?

 

Ratchet pursed his lips. That was not the thought of the night, and in retaliation he jabbed the pager next to Drift’s door.

 

The door was quick to open, which brought a smile to Ratchet’s lips. At least he wasn’t the only eager one then – but that was further exemplified with how Drift dragged him inside, the door locking automatically behind them, and leaned in to kiss him.

 

Well then. Ratchet grinned into the kiss, matching Drift’s hunger, drunk on the frenetic crackle of his energy field against Ratchet’s own, his hands grasping Drift’s waist. That was better, the sensation he’d craved for the whole of the day to this point, and it wasn’t until Drift had him pressed against the locked door that they broke the liplock. 

 

Drift gazed at him, panting softly, and Ratchet arched an optic ridge. “Good evening to you too,” he remarked.

 

Drift laughed sheepishly. “Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least. “But I haven’t been able to think of anything else today.”

 

“That must have made for an interesting bridge shift.” Ratchet snorted, conveniently leaving out that he’d been in the same state the whole day.

 

The swordsmech grinned. “Magnus may have wanted to strangle me for being as restless as Rodimus usually is.”

 

Ratchet let out snort of laughter. “That bad?” he teased.

 

“Oh yeah,” Drift said, and kissed him again.

 

It didn’t take them long to get to the berth in a rush of frenzied kisses and pawing, moving as one to the bunk in much the same way as they’d reached Ratchet’s desk earlier that day. The feeling was just as giddy as before, too, with Drift grinning against his lips. He only parted to scoot himself up on the beth. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one thinking about this,” he murmured, a coy glint to his optics.

 

Ratchet snorted. “After this morning…?” He was content to leave it at that, more concerned with crawling onto the berth after Drift.

 

Drift laughed. “What did you think about specifically?” he teased. And yet, there was genuine curiosity too.

 

Ratchet rolled his optics, but as he’d already been leaning between Drift’s knees, he made a show of pushing them wider, spreading his legs. “Thought how I didn’t get to taste you off my own fingers,” he murmured.

 

The speedster’s engine purred. “Oh, I’m so sorry for the disappointment,” he remarked.

 

Ratchet shook his helm, but he pointedly moved one hand to play with the seams of the heated panel between Drift’s legs. “Gonna make it up to me?” he asked.

 

Drift snorted as he let his panel open with a soft  _ click _ . “If you insist.” 

 

_ Frag’s sake. _ But Ratchet couldn’t  _ really _ complain -- he’d known going into this how much of a handful Drift was. “You’re terrible,” he told Drift, even as he let his fingers move to stroke the velvet heat of his valve once more. 

 

Then he remembered the engex in his subspace. “Forgot,” he said, reluctantly drawing his hand away.

 

“What?” 

 

That  _ definitely _ had a pouty tone that Ratchet decided not to remark upon for the moment. Instead he pulled the decanter out of his subspace and set it on the near side-table. “For later.” Drift hummed but said nothing as he gazed down his frame at Ratchet. The medic had settled into his previous position again. “What?”

 

At his question, Drift just shook his helm. Then he smirked again. “Thought you said something about tasting,” he remarked.

 

The medic scoffed. “So impatient.”

 

“So were you, a few minutes ago.”

 

Well. Ratchet couldn’t deny that. “I reiterate my previous point,” he drawled, before lowering his helm. Whatever smart-aleck remark Drift had stored next evaporated into a gasp as Ratchet pressed his lips to his valve. 

 

As far as methods for getting Drift to shut up, this was easily climbing to the top of the list. Ratchet mouthed at his lips, his glossa flicking against the mech’s node and making him shiver down to his pedetips. 

 

And as for the taste, as the joke had been between them… maybe Ratchet was still high on finally resolving their mutual flirting, but right now he was of the opinion that Drift tasted better than any engex he’d had at Swerve’s that evening. He grinned a little at the thought -- he wished he could blame engex on it but he knew himself better than that. 

 

The fact was, he was enjoying this, especially for how much Drift was enjoying it; the other mech arched into Ratchet’s seeking glossa with a gratuitous moan. Drift proved to be quite the squirmer, wriggling this way this and that as little arcs of charge popped off his field. 

 

Eventually, Ratchet grabbed his ankles and pushed his pedes into the berth, managing to (mostly) keep his lower half still.  

 

“Ratchet -- ” he breathed, his vents ticking up. 

 

Ratchet hummed in response, his lips pressed tight to Drift’s anterior node. He let out a soft cry, backstruts arching to push his hips  _ up _ , trying to get more. The medic tried to give him everything he sought, lapping between Drift’s folds and seeking every charged up node he could find.

 

It didn’t take much longer to coax Drift to overload. Ratchet savored it, the energy crackling through his own field and heightening his arousal even more. He continued mouthing and licking between Drift’s legs, until the mech was shivering into the berth.

 

When he raised himself back on his knees, Ratchet was treated to a sight -- Drift sprawled out before him, legs splayed, one arm thrown over his helm as he panted. Heat still emanated from his frame.

 

Ratchet couldn’t help but smile. Some of his earlier imagining had been vivid but it had nothing on the reality.

 

This time when Ratchet leaned in, he brought them even, and captured Drift’s parted lips in a kiss. It was deep and slow, full of the same heat as before, but unfolded into a simmering passion. 

 

Ratchet paused, not wanting to overwhelm Drift in the post-overload hypersensitivity, but the other mech chased his lips, kissing him again and again. Ratchet was perfectly content to oblige, his hands lightly stroking Drift’s chest armor, his waist, thumbing over the joints in his hips. Drift was warm and humming, his field hot and effervescent, enveloping Ratchet in twice the desire.

 

Then he felt Drift’s hand move between them, tracing down Ratchet’s abdominal plating before reaching his interface hatch. Ratchet let his own engine rumble, his hips rolling into Drift’s touch.

 

He felt Drift smile against the corner of his mouth as he trailed kisses down to his jaw, too. Ratchet panted softly, letting his panels slide back. Sharp dentae teased along his jaw and down to his neck as Drift teased and encouraged his spike to extend into his palm.

 

“C’mon,” Drift murmured, muffled against his neck. As if Ratchet needed to be told. He tightened his grip on Drift’s hips, angling them and letting Drift’s teasing hand guide him to the slick entrance of his valve.

 

Drift bit harder on his neck as Ratchet thrust in, both sensations sending shivers up and down the medic’s backstruts and the hum of the mech muffling his moan into Ratchet’s neck cables was every bit as enticing.

 

Ratchet grunted, moving his hips in a steady, deep rhythm. Below him, Drift cried out softly, letting his helm fall back. Ratchet leaned forward, wanting to kiss those parted lips, but instead he just leaned their helms together. Kissing seemed too much to focus on right now, with the tight heat of Drift’s valve squeezing around his spike. 

 

Drift focused his optics again, and locking their gazes this close was… intense.

 

“Frag…”  It slipped from his lips, making Drift grin as he clearly redoubled his efforts, rocking his hips up to meet Ratchet’s steady thrusts.

 

So easy for them to spur each other on, it seemed. Ratchet couldn’t remember being this eager and this charged up for an interface in a long time. But Drift made it easy, the desire pouring out of him in waves, sparking through their fields in endless whorls of electric heat.

 

Drift murmured something that might have been his name again, but it was muffled into the hungry kiss he now pulled Ratchet into, arms wrapped tight around his neck as Ratchet sped his pace, clearly chasing the overload that whispered at the edge of his senses. Drift let out a soft whine as he bit down on Ratchet’s lower lip; Ratchet gasped, slammed his hips home, and trembled as he felt Drift’s valve clutch around his length as he overloaded.

 

The resulting waves of released charge pushed Ratchet into his own climax, his vents roaring as he leaned his weight atop Drift’s frame. His spark thrilled at the purr of the strong engine in his chassis.

 

Ratchet heard a soft chuckle and peered into Drift’s face. He ran his glossa over his lower lip, tender where the mech had bit him, though he didn’t taste energon so there’d been no breach.

 

Drift must have been holding back; Ratchet knew how sharp those fangs were. 

 

And he got an optic-full again as Drift grinned up at him. Ratchet knew by now how to identify the mischief glinting in his optics, and he barely had his mouth open to admonish when Drift rolled them and his world went topsy turvy for a moment.

 

Ratchet blinked up at the mech, visual feed resolving itself fairly easy. Drift had leaned down, balancing his forearms on Ratchet’s chest and smiling at him. Ratchet raised his optic ridges. “Hi.”

 

Drift laughed. “Hi,” he replied.

 

A smile tugged at the corner of Ratchet’s mouth. “Having fun?”

 

Drift rumbled deep in his engine again, his optics glinting with mirth. “Oh yes.”

 

Ratchet wasn’t sure what else he’d been about to say -- whatever it was slipped away as Drift rolled his hips again. The motion ground the mech’s valve back against his spike. The medic huffed, his gaze faraway as Drift rocked their equipment together, drawing a soft moan from his lips.

 

He did, however, notice when Drift grinned again. He’d ceased grinding their equipment together, just for a moment.

 

Just until he had Ratchet’s attention, it seemed. Not that Ratchet minded giving it. Drift made a pretty sight, sitting up and straddling his frame, panting softly, his optics bright…

 

In the next moment, Drift had lifted his hips, lining his dripping valve back up with Ratchet’s spike and sinking down upon its length with a soft whine of pleasure. Ratchet let out an answering moan. His hands, which had been aimlessly grasping the berthmat, instead reached for Drift’s legs.

 

Drift squeezed around him and Ratchet felt his vision fuzz.  _ Frag. _

 

He peered up at Drift, who had paused. Ratchet strained, concentrating, and rocked his hips up into Drift. The speedster shivered, riding the motion but still watching Ratchet closely.

 

“You alright?” Ratchet finally asked.

 

“I was going to ask  _ you _ that.”

 

Ratchet blinked. “Huh?”

 

“I just… wanna make sure this isn’t too much all at once.” 

 

The medic squinted up at Drift. “What, you think I’m gonna break or something?”

 

“No…” From the way Drift bit his lip, it was clear he was flustered. Or uncertain. Which was a little funny considering the mech was sitting on his spike, calipers fluttering around its girth and driving Ratchet absolutely mad.

 

In the back of his mind he knew it was probably just the wording he was struggling with. No one had to tell Ratchet how hard words relating to feelings were. But he was sincerely hoping Drift would spit it out before his spark spiraled out and he  _ did _ fall apart. 

 

Ratchet couldn’t help arching his frame a little bit, watching Drift swallow as the motion nudged his spike deeper. But finally he spoke: “What I mean is I’m pretty -- enthusiastic about this. I could probably go all night. I just don’t want to -- ”

 

But here Ratchet snorted, and Drift fell silent, giving him an almost affronted look. “You think I’m too old to  _ ‘go all night’ _ , as you put it?”

 

Drift pouted. “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“Then don’t get defensive about it.” Before Drift could retort, Ratchet rolled his hips up again, taking great pleasure in seeing the mech’s optics flicker and his plating rattle in a shiver. “You had me under the impression you were gonna ride my spike.”

 

Narrowing his optics, Drift leaned forward a little, balancing his hands on Ratchet’s chestplate. “You got it,” he murmured, the coy look returning to his features.

 

Ratchet grinned, but any triumph he felt was washed away by the feeling of Drift rocking his hips back and down, squeezing around his spike -- and moving with earnest.

 

Finally.

 

Ratchet's hands had migrated to Drift's waist, but he swiftly slid one up, wrapping an arm around Drift's neck and pulling him in closer for a kiss. Drift groaned against his lips, still rocking his hips back, meeting Ratchet's shallow thrusts. With his other arm still wrapped around Drift's waist, he could feel the electricity dancing up Drift's spinal strut with each motion. It was a curious sensation, one almost overpowered by the thundering tide of his field rolling and crackling around them.

 

It was his favorite thing so far, if he were honest. Normally Drift made great efforts to keep his field neutral... or at least small. But this... was breathtaking.

 

Drift broke from the kiss, though he didn't go very far; he gazed up at Ratchet, panting open-mouthed as he slammed his hips home, swiftly. Ratchet swallowed; Drift wasn't the only one whose plating was jumping and trembling in pleasure.

 

Already they were so close again. Ratchet could feel it in his core and he could feel it in Drift, the way his field seemed to mirror the shivery clench of his valve around Ratchet's spike. When Drift finally arched with a last throb of charge, Ratchet drank in the sight and sound of his overload -- at least until his own rushed through his frame and left him breathless on the berth.

 

Frag. Drift looked and  _ felt _ divine… not that he would use such a word around the religious mech. Might as well smelt him at that point.

 

Still, it was background chatter in his mind as he lazily onlined his optics. Drift had settled over him, engine purring in delight.

 

This was nice.

 

After a moment of stroking his hands down Drift’s backstruts, Ratchet snorted. “You gonna doze off?”

 

Drift lifted his helm, resting his chin on Ratchet’s chestplate. He grinned wickedly. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

 

Ratchet arched an optic ridge. “I’d hope not after all that talk about  _ going all night _ ,” he remarked. 

 

Drift snorted. “You love to be difficult, don’t you?”

 

“Pot meet kettle.” Ratchet felt a glowing sense of triumph that Drift had no particular comeback for  _ that _ . Still, Drift didn’t move much, still leaning against his frame and letting his vents catch up. And out of the corner of his optic he once more spotted the decanter of engex he’d brought from Swerve’s.

 

If they were going to have a small break, why not also have a drink? After a moment, Drift followed Ratchet’s gaze, then grinned a little. “Thinking about something else now?”

 

Ratchet arched an optic ridge. “Might as well if we’re gonna have a breather.”

 

Drift shrugged, then finally moved, parting from Ratchet’s frame with a soft, reciprocated shiver as their equipment uncoupled. When Ratchet started to move as well, Drift waved him off. He frowned, but… Ratchet would not complain about watching Drift go to a cabinet, light on his pedes as always, with his valve bare and his thighs splattered with both their fluids.

 

He slipped back to the side of the berth with a couple of small glasses in his hand, though he only poured into one -- which he offered to Ratchet. 

 

The medic blinked, accepting the glass. “Thanks,” he said. “None for you?”

 

Drift chuckled as he hopped back onto the berth. “I’ll save that reward for later.”

 

...Whatever that meant. It could mean nothing, and yet Ratchet wouldn’t put it past Drift. Either way -- he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Ratchet reclined for the moment, sipping his engex… wanting to see all that had been on Drift’s mind. For now the mech also simply gazed at him. The look on his face was… some mixture of longing and desire and satisfaction that made his spark do a funny turn.

 

He promptly ignored it. Engex  _ had _ been a good idea.

 

Drift switched tactics to leaning his helm on one of Ratchet’s knees, his hand slipping between Ratchet’s thighs. And though he teased the underside of Ratchet’s spike, his clear goal was Ratchet’s valve.

 

The medic gasped softly at the touch. He’d hardly thought about his own valve, given how occupied they’d both been with Drift’s. And yet at this single touch -- fingertips delicately tracing the wet lips -- he felt an aching, longing emptiness. Already his valve squeezed around nothing.

 

Drift smiled. Damn him.

 

Ratchet tightened his grip on the glass, staring right back down at Drift. But the younger mech was just smiling and gently stroking his fingertips between the folds of his valve. The gentle teasing of it seemed practically decadent, drinking his engex at the same time. 

 

And for a few moments, that’s how they stayed; Ratchet felt a certain delight as he discovered Drift had remained as open with his field now as he’d been during their interfacing. It still coasted against him, rolling against his plating, but with warmth and -- something, some sort of intensity that contained just a bite of his earlier desire -- seeping right into his joints, or so it felt.

 

Loose and relaxed, Ratchet let out a soft sigh and tipped his helm back a bit. This was… nice. When was the last time he’d felt this sort of contentment?

 

Ratchet didn’t have long to contemplate it. Through the haze of pleasured contentment, he felt the sudden heat of a mouth enveloping the head of his spike. The medic gasped, arcing his frame just a bit -- and heard an unpleasant cracking sound. He opened his optics and glanced over… he’d clenched his hands and grasped the glass hard enough to fracture it.

 

“Ah, scrap. I’m sorry, Drift…”

 

Drift slowly lifted his helm, letting Ratchet’s spike pop out of his mouth in a  _ very _ obscene fashion. “No worries,” he murmured. “But you might wanna put it aside so we don’t have to stop to pick up glass shards…  _ That _ would be a mood-killer.”

 

Ratchet gave an exasperated sigh, but he did set the cracked glass aside. “You are such a -- ” Drift cut him off again by taking his spike into his mouth once more, and pushing two fingers into his valve in the same instant. Ratchet’s words slipped into a moan. And Drift’s field was  _ gleaming _ with satisfaction but Ratchet was enjoying this too much to care. The mech’s fingers were dexterous and clever, quickly locating some of the best spots in his valve, all while sucking enthusiastically on his spike. 

 

Drift taking in more of his length while thrusting his fingers further in his valve… wasn’t overwhelming  _ yet _ , but Ratchet was still eager to lose himself in each sensation.

 

“Drift…” he murmured. It only spurred the mech on more, he continued working his mouth -- and throat, now, since he’d gotten that far -- pumping his fingers as though trying to push him to overload. And he was getting damn close… before Drift withdrew entirely but for his thumb rolling gently over his anterior node.

 

With another shiver, Ratchet peered down his frame again, forcing his optics to focus. Drift was sitting up again, his own spike extended. Ratchet eagerly wrapped a leg around Drift, tugging him closer and moaning again as Drift lined their equipment up and sank his spike into Ratchet’s valve.

 

Finally. Ironic how at the same time, that aching itch became all the more intense. “C’mon,” he grunted, and Drift didn’t disappoint; he quickly snapped his hips forward, earning another pleasured cry from the medic.

 

Much to Ratchet’s pleasure, Drift was quick to use that as his rhythm -- deep and percussive. So satisfying, after all the mech’s teasing. Now  _ this _ was a sensation to get lost in. Drift’s field, as intense as ever, rolled through his, feeling like it sank into his very frame structure and got his joints and struts heated up even more than they already were. 

 

At this rate, he’d melt through the berth.

 

_ Frag _ , this was better than he could’ve imagined -- and he’d imagined a  _ lot _ , especially after their little rendezvous earlier in the day. Obviously they both had -- it’s what led to that tryst in the first place, but still. Drift’s  _ energy _ , the sheer pleasure he wrought from Ratchet’s frame with each thrust home.

 

It would be embarrassing that Drift had him on the brink of another overload so quickly, but then he’d been edged away once already, and Drift was clearly gunning for it with the way he continued playing with Ratchet’s anterior node.

 

Ratchet rocked his hips into the touch, meeting Drift’s thrusts and letting his helm roll back, his vents panting and fans roaring. Just a few more moments and he surrendered, pleasure pouring through him so bright he felt his spark flutter. 

 

It took a moment for the sparks to fade enough for Ratchet to realize Drift had not also overloaded; the mech was leaning over him still, panting, nuzzling at his cheek and neck… and still very much seated in Ratchet’s valve. Each post-overload zing of a node or squeeze of his valve made Drift hiss in an intake, the plating along his back shifting and trembling under Ratchet’s hands.

 

“Drift?”

 

The mech lifted his helm, grinning a little. “Hey.” He licked his lips. 

 

“Why are you…”

 

“I got plans,” he remarked, optics flickering teasingly. He ground their hips slowly together, drawing a surprised gasp from Ratchet’s lips. “You good to go?”

 

Ratchet grunted, feeling anticipation tingle through his circuits again. “Bring it on.”

 

Drift chuckled, leaning down to kiss Ratchet. The medic’s engine purred as he returned it, moving his arms up to wrap around Drift’s neck. Drift shifted his hips, starting to rock into him at a different angle.

 

His pace was slow, but no less intimate, not with their kisses and… downright affectionate nuzzling. If Ratchet thought his spark had strained earlier…

 

Scrap. This damn mech was going to make a sap out of him.

 

He murmured Drift’s name again, letting his vision blur as he rocked his own hips, easily matching Drift’s gentle, leisurely pace. It was addictive. Damn near hypnotic, really. What little his vents had calmed was gone as he panted harshly, fingertips digging into Drift’s plating. Drift himself seemed intent on covering his entire helm with kisses; he’d moved from Ratchet’s lips to his cheeks, then he’d kissed Ratchet’s half-shuttered optics, now he -- “Oh!’

 

He skipped straight to  _ nipping _ Ratchet’s chevron and earned himself a surprised gasp from Ratchet -- accompanied by a thrill of charge in his field and his valve tightening around Drift’s spike.

 

Drift’s plating quivered. But he’d found a new plaything, and from there on kept mouthing and kissing the helm adornment. Ratchet swiftly became wordless in pleasure, seeking the overload that was like the gentle crest of a wave rather than the hot electric jolts from their more energetic coupling.

 

Not that any overload he’d shared with Drift this day had been remotely bad or empty… but. He felt a deep yearning in this one… something hard to describe, like the sweet anticipation and longing for the most moving part of a song.

 

And in the next few rounds of their rhythm of give and take and pleasure and  _ wanting _ … he felt that bliss of an overload sweep through him, from the base of his spinal strut up, and before he could let out much of any sound -- he faded into warm darkness.

 

\--

 

He was embarrassed to say that he was more than a little confused when he found himself onlining, some of his sub-systems still doing a hard reboot, and his HUD lazily giving him a scroll: internal diagnostics, stabilizing heat levels, minor dents and scrapes, the exact amount of time he’d been out…

 

Hadn’t been long, but it was still the first time in a long time that an overload knocked him out that way.

 

Frag.

 

Drift hadn’t wasted the time, either. He’d gotten them both moderately cleaned up and was crossing the room towards him again, two glasses in hand.

 

Ah. Drift had mentioned the engex earlier… and he seemed to have already disposed of the glass that Ratchet had broken. 

 

“Good morning,” he said smugly. He sounded so damn sure, Ratchet nearly checked his chronometer despite having  _ just _ noted the time interval he’d been out.

 

He scowled. “Don’t think you’ll get one over on me just because I offlined for a few seconds.” It had been more than a few  _ seconds _ , but still.

 

Drift laughed. “Touchy,” he teased, grinning as he poured the engex.

 

“Cheeky.”

 

Drift sat upon the berth again, holding one glass out to Ratchet. The medic sighed and shimmied himself into a sitting position before he accepted. “Thanks.”

 

Drift hummed. “Thank  _ you _ for bringing it over.”

 

Ratchet just grunted.

 

They stayed like that for some time, shoulder to shoulder, drinking good engex and basking in the afterglow of some truly incredible interfacing. The decanter held one more glass each for them, and they enjoyed it the same way. Contentment and a touch of sleepiness tinged their fields -- at this point they were so enmeshed it was impossible to say which was whose.

 

Not that Ratchet cared to.

 

Ratchet sighed, leaning into Drift’s side after the mech gently plucked his empty glass from his fingertips. “Sleepy again?” Drift teased. But it was still an intimate murmur against his audio that lazily tickled his lust for the mech.

 

“Shush,” he muttered.

 

Drift chuckled, though he said nothing more as he quietly put the glassware away. Who said he couldn’t be smart on occasion?

 

When he slipped back into the berth, he gave Ratchet a considering look. One that said he was mulling over his next few words. “Do you want to… stay for the night?”

 

Ratchet blinked. All that, and yet Drift hesitated on asking him to sleep over? Well, he supposed it wasn’t that strange. It wouldn’t be unusual for some mechs to prefer leaving at a late hour, no walk of shame, no uncomfortable questions from others. 

 

To be honest, Ratchet couldn’t be bothered to give a slag. “I’m pretty comfortable where I am, yeah,” he remarked. Drift smiled just a little, but it was clear he was very pleased. Was all this affection really for him? Goodness. “And don’t get too smug,” he remarked as he settled down, rolling over to rest his helm on Drift’s shoulder. “We’ll see who overloads so hard he offlines next time.”

 

Drift grinned as he gently brought their helms together again. “Next time,” he repeated, amusement and promise in his tone.

 

Content with their entangled fields and frames, Ratchet quickly dropped off into a comfortable recharge.


End file.
